


Collections

by Canarii



Series: Hide and Seek [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-07
Updated: 2009-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canarii/pseuds/Canarii





	Collections

It was only a matter of time.

Sally had always wondered why the room the Doctor had found for her on the TARDIS was sandwiched between three bathrooms and a parlour. A lonely out of place guest bedroom so oddly isolated, it made even less sense than the rest of the ship's layout.

It wasn't until weeks later, after getting lost in the hedge maze looking for the library, that Sally stumbled across them. A whole wing of bedrooms. Some had names on the doors, some didn't, and seemed locked. Cobwebs matted at the corners of the doorframes, almost as if for atmosphere rather than reality, as she'd never seen a spider on the TARDIS.

Down they stretched, lining an impossibly long hallway, unlike any of the usual twisting turning walks of the ship. She realizes, after a few doors, that she recognised a few of the names, mentioned in passing, forced references she'd prompted out of him. The door closest to her in the hall was locked tight, but was relatively free of dust and cobwebs. A barely faded post-it was half wedged in the door frame, curled from time . Sally gently unfurled it, pressing it back against of the door into it's original position. A brief note was scrawled across in a quick but precise hand.

Trying to actually grab a nap before we head off to this market or whatever, and god help me if I get bothered a minute before then, are we clear, Spaceman? -Donna

Sally mouths the name to herself, it's second counterpart falling smoothly into place. Donna Noble.

The next door is unmarked, but somehow she knows before her fingers even brush the knob who it once housed. It's not locked, and the door swings open too easily, as if expecting it's original inhabitant to return at any moment. The room is impersonal, nearly spartan. If she didn't know better, she'd think whoever stayed here had known how temporary this life could be, and dared not make themselves too at home. But the room is still open, still waiting. Sally already knows the name, even before the TARDIS purrs it into her mind. Martha Jones. Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Sally backs out of the room, and the door swings shut of it's own accord, leaving her once again in the long corridor.

There's more dust on and around the next door, and Sally doesn't touch this one. Somehow she knows it will be locked as tight as Donna's was. A handmade placard hangs from the knob, almost childish in it's brightness and the glitter that spelled out the name. Rose. Sally bit her lip, feeling something rise in her throat, emotion she wasn't sure came from her or the ship itself. Nothing gleaming with that much hope and innocence belonged in this abandoned hallway.

She stepped away from the door and knows in that instant, as certain as if the TARDIS herself had whispered it in her mind (and maybe she did.) that Sally's own room would sit here someday. In this corridor, this hall of memories, of mementos, this archive. It was only a matter of time.

 

She turned to leave, back the way she came, she felt like she's trespassing on something forbidden and private, something personal, hidden. A secret hobby, a hidden collec....

"Sally."

She jumped. Never had silence been broken so gently but the sound in the silence sent her whirling around. It's him, of course it is. A wave of displaced guilt washes over her, like a child caught playing with something they shouldn't. She opens her mouth to explain her mistake, she was lost, she got turned around, she didn't mea...

"What are we to you?" The words are hers, but not the ones she meant to speak. They're not the words of the understanding companion she'd learned to be in times like this, the one who knew when to keep her mouth shut. The one who knew when to let go, to stop pushing, to stop challenging. They came from the girl who wanted answers, the one who needed validation and would not be ignored. It was the voice of someone who wasn't afraid to demand what she wanted, even from a 900 year old alien. It was her voice, and for a brief moment she wishes it wasn't. His eyes seem impossibly dark close up, and this time, this time, she thinks, she's gone to far.

But he doesn't flinch, doesn't blink, just keeps looking at her, and slowly she sees the darkness as the shadow of sorrow rather than rage. She opens her mouth to say something, to take it back, but he speaks first, and ends it.

"Everything." He says, even as the dust drifts down the corridor.


End file.
